Four months later.
Hannah had always loved summer. It wasn't only because she could finally take a break from school and surrender herself to idleness, but also because of the warmth, the light, and the sense of freedom it brought. The sun wrapped her in golden rays, and unlike most people who complained of the heat, she thrived beneath it. She could linger outside for hours without tiring, as if her body drew strength from the season itself.
For her, this was the best time of the year.
"It took us longer than expected because Tom stood in line twice," Jin grumbled, narrowing his eyes at his friend as he passed Hannah a chocolate ice cream. "The first time, he lost his place because he got distracted by some cute girl, and the guy behind him refused to let him back in. He had to start from the end. I swear, I felt like strangling him. Honestly, people here in Chicago are not kind."
Hannah laughed softly, a light chuckle escaping her lips. "That's true. In this city, you really have to defend your place."
Jin sank down on the bench beside her, the faint sunlight catching on the silver bracelet at his wrist. Hannah studied his face carefully, her gaze drawn to the familiar curve of his smile. It unsettled her, though she couldn't quite explain why. She still could not make sense of the letter she had found months ago. Did it really mean she had met him on the day of her sister's accident? Or had that been nothing more than a cruel illusion, another trick of her illness?
She tried not to think about it. For now, she was grateful they had come to see her again.
"How are the rest of your friends?" she asked suddenly, her curiosity focusing most on Joseph.
"Jimmy and Mariah are doing well. Their relationship is thriving, and since they go to the same university, they're practically inseparable. Just yesterday they left for some exotic trip," Tom replied between bites of his mint ice cream. From time to time, his eyes flicked toward Jin's strawberry scoop with thinly veiled regret, as though he wished he had chosen the same flavor. "Joseph, though? We haven't seen much of him lately. He's been keeping to himself, acting mysterious. Says he's becoming independent and moving out of his father's house."
"Moving out?" Hannah repeated, genuinely surprised.
"Yeah. His father's barely ever home, and Joseph's got ideas of his own. He wants freedom, but don't get me wrong—he'll still be living off the family money. I don't know if you'd call that independence. Honestly, I can't picture Joseph working a real job. Can you imagine him waiting tables at some dingy diner?"
Jin chuckled at the thought, his lips curving into that same smile that had haunted Hannah's memory since her vision in the cursed room. She swallowed hard, uneasy.
"I envy you," she admitted quietly. "You're already starting college. I just want to finish high school first."
"Don't say that," Tom countered quickly, his tone unexpectedly earnest. "I cried at graduation. I would have stayed in high school forever if I could. I swear, it's the best stage in life." He leaned back and watched a flock of birds wheel through the sky, his eyes following them with wistful calm.
"Not for everyone," Jin murmured. His voice was lower now, as if he were speaking more to himself than to anyone else. He lowered his gaze, and Hannah noticed the way his fingers fidgeted, twisting together nervously. Still, he smiled faintly. "For some, high school is nothing but a nightmare. They wake up with stomach aches, praying it will all end, wishing the bad dream would fade faster. Everyone carries some nightmare period inside them."
His eyes lifted and found hers, steady and unblinking.
"And we carry ours too, don't we?" he asked softly, his hand closing gently around hers. "It doesn't fade quickly. We both know that."
Hannah forced a smile, though her chest tightened with unease.
Why did his words, lately, sound so heavy with hidden meaning? Why did every look, every phrase, carry a strange, unspoken weight? She remembered the day he had asked her about Danielle's death so abruptly, the way his expression had shifted then—innocent, and yet not. At the time, she hadn't thought much of it. But now, every fragment, every memory began to twist together into something far more disturbing.
What if none of this was her illness? What if it wasn't illusion at all, but her mind concealing truths too terrible to face?
*
"Could you at least look a little more surprised?" Joseph exclaimed. Hannah mouth falling open the moment she spotted Joseph. He was leaning casually against the iron fence that enclosed her house, his posture languid, as though he had been waiting there far too long.
"What are you doing here? Didn't you swear you would never visit me, because it was a waste of fuel?"
"That's what I said when I still lived in New York," he replied smoothly, the corner of his mouth twisting into a tart smile. "But now I've moved to Chicago. I'm starting my studies here in September." His tone turned deliberately careless as he waved a hand. "I need you for the summer. You can play the role of my guide dog." He said it as though it cost him nothing, though his eyes drifted aside with a flicker of embarrassment, betraying the bravado.
Hannah pressed her lips tightly together to keep from laughing. She stepped closer, tilting her face up to his. Only then did she notice—Joseph no longer wore his trademark smudges of black eyeliner.
Had he finally abandoned his dark, brooding look?
"So now you're the one desperate for friends in a new city?" she teased, arching a brow.
"I never have trouble making friends. People are drawn to me like flies," he shot back without missing a beat. Hannah rolled her eyes at the arrogance. "Better tell me how your therapy's going. Do you still travel to New York for treatment?"
"Yes," she admitted, her voice firm but quiet. "It's not easy, but the doctor says he sees progress. He claims most of it comes from my own willpower. I won't give up. The illness won't beat me." She lifted her chin with defiance.
Joseph only shrugged, unimpressed. "I don't see any progress. You still have those deranged eyes of yours." His tone was blunt, almost cruel, yet it carried the same mocking sharpness she remembered. Time apart had not softened him—he still delighted in provoking her, a habit that clung to him like a second skin.
What Hannah did not know—what Joseph never intended to confess—was that he had his own reasons for staying close. They weren't bound by blood, not truly, and yet some part of him felt responsible for her. Perhaps it was because she was his mother's biological daughter, a living reminder of everything complicated in their family. Perhaps it was guilt, or something deeper he could never name.
She irritated him endlessly; often he wanted nothing more than to strangle her with his bare hands. But despite that, he had made a quiet decision: he would look after her.
His relationship with his own father was fractured beyond repair. Maybe, just maybe, things would be different with Hannah.